


Spontaneous Symmetry Breaking

by onvavoir



Series: Teumessian Fox [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"YOU'RE FRIENDS WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN TELL ME?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spontaneous Symmetry Breaking

"This is by far the greatest betrayal of our friendship," Foggy says.

He's pacing back and forth from the door of his office to Matt's, and Matt knows he should feel guilty, but really, the hardest thing is trying not to laugh at the wounded reediness in Foggy's voice. He could have told his partner everything ahead of time, but the situation seemed so sprawling and complex, it seemed more expedient to do it this way. He's also honest enough to admit to himself that he kind of wanted to experience Foggy's reaction. He holds up his hands.

"You're right. I should have told you sooner."

There's a pause as Foggy stops moving and looks at him.

"You know I hate when you say that, right? You could at least be like, _oh, I had to keep it a secret because I didn't know if the office was bugged_ \-- wait, it's not, right? You checked, right?"

This time he can't help it-- he laughs. "I'd know. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? Don't _worry?_  We just had a 3-hour meeting with Captain freakin' America and his best friend-- who by the way we thought was  _dead_ for 80 years-- only it turns out he was experimented on by Nazis who turned him into a killing machine that destroyed half of Washington DC. There is nothing about this scenario that I should not be worried about!"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds kinda bad."

Foggy throws up his hands. "Augh!"

***

It's taken weeks of incremental improvements, backsliding, and cajoling, but they're here. Both he and Bucky woke up before dawn, too tightly wound to sleep any later, but unwilling to get out of bed until they'd had a slow, steady fuck to calm their nerves. Matt's come to like the spiky texture of Bucky's newly-shorn hair at the nape of his neck. He rubs his thumb along the razored edge and the recently-shaved corner of Bucky's jaw. 

He'd expected some resistance to the idea of a haircut and a shave, which was why he hadn't pressed the issue, just mentioned a stylist that owed him a favour and could therefore be counted on to be discreet. Then Bucky had simply turned up at his place, clean-shaven and smelling of Alanna's mint and rosemary shampoo. The smoothness of his face was a new sensation, the neat edges and the smell of styling wax. Matt had spent hours running his fingers over those new surfaces, fascinated and actually a little regretful. He liked being able to tangle his fingers in Bucky's hair. He misses that a little. 

Now Bucky shaves every morning-- or at least every morning he spends at Matt's, which is most of them lately. His scent is a little different, the vintage brand of shaving foam he uses and a speck of iron when he nicks himself. He stalwartly refuses to use modern razors, says it's ridiculous to have that many blades, so Matt finds him an antique straight-razor. He likes listening to the scrape of it against Bucky's throat and jaw. Periodically he tap-taps it to fling foam and stubble into the sink, pauses to watch Matt listening to him with his head cocked. When he finishes, he submits his face for inspection by Matt's sensitive fingers. He never misses a spot, and he must know that, but they do it anyway.

Today there's a tremor in his hand. Matt winces as Bucky nicks himself on the first swipe, curses. Pressing his lips together, Matt moves towards him and reaches out. He takes the razor in his right hand and nudges Bucky's chin with the other thumb. His neck extends, and Matt moves the edge of the razor up towards his jaw with a quiet rasp and a freshening of the foam scent. His hands are steady-- and after all these years, they ought to be. Something in Bucky seems to quiet as Matt continues. His breathing slows, and his body relaxes. One would think he was used to being shaved by a blind man. The thought makes Matt smile, and then before he can reach for the towel, Bucky's mouth is on him, soapy taste and smooth skin and warm tongue. Matt withdraws with great effort and heaves out a breath. There's no time for this, not today. Matt brushes his lips against Bucky's and breathes out as if to say _later_.

The tremor returns as they get dressed and walk to the office. Matt holds his arm, not that he needs to, and carries his cane in the other hand. It's winter, so Bucky blends in with the rest of the population in beanie and scarf and sunglasses. Nonetheless, Matt can't relax until they're in the office. He closes all the blinds and the door. They're expecting company, but Matt hears his approach and is at the main door before Steve reaches out to knock.

***

Foggy's approach is telegraphed differently, half-singing, half-humming a show tune to himself that Matt can't quite place. It makes him smile.

"That'll be him now," he says to the two men sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs that would be called retro if they weren't yellowed and oranged with rust and age. "Just... give him a minute to take it in."

Matt can hear the movement of tendons and vertebrae as the two of them share a look, and there's a peculiar stab of jealousy in his chest. He can't imagine having the sort of bond with someone that would survive decades of presumed death, brainwashing and dehumanisation. Well, with Foggy. Which is why he knows it's time to get this over with. Not just because the three of them have finally figured out what to do, but because Matt's kept enough secrets from him.

The closed blinds muffle sound a little, but the door to the main office opening is still a distinct series of rattles as Foggy comes in. He's bearing a box of some sort, which Matt hopes contains bagels from the deli up the street. Scent slides under the door, buffeted by the movement of air, and on it is Foggy's aftershave, a lighter note of soap and shampoo, and yes, bagels. Matt smiles.

"I hope you brought enough for everyone," he calls from the other side of his closed door.

"I brought enough for the whole _building_ ," Foggy calls back. Matt hears the box settle on the desk, and his stomach growls. "I thought our mysterious new clients might like one or three themselves."

Keys jangle as Foggy sets them down in the other room, the quieter sound of his bag joining them. Matt can hear the rustle of fabric as Foggy straightens his tie and puts on his _Franklin Nelson, Esquire_ posture. He clears his throat as quietly as possible (not quiet enough for Matt not to hear) and turns the knob on the door to Matt's office.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says as he opens it. "The line at the deli was insane, and there was this little old lady who--"

The sentence stops abruptly and drops along with Foggy's jaw. Matt waits, hands folded. No one says anything, least of all Foggy, who seems to have lost control of his mouth. He looks from Steve to Bucky, then back, then at Matt. And again.

"Foggy," Matt says pleasantly. "Would you mind closing the door?"

***

"I fainted in front of Captain America," Foggy says from behind his hand.

"No, you didn't." Matt schools his face to remain impassive. "At most it was a swoon."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he doesn't need enhanced senses to know which finger Foggy is holding up.

"You're gonna give me an aneurysm, Murdock. Or a stroke. Heart attack? One of 'em. Maybe all three at once. They can engrave on my headstone, Here lies Foggy Nelson..."

Matt licks his lower lip, presses on.

"There's something else I need to tell you," he says. "I want you to know everything."

"Well, that makes a change."

He sighs a little. "Bucky and I are... involved."

There's a beat of silence, and then Foggy says, "Didn't think this could get any weirder. Shoulda known better."

"Didn't think what could get any weirder?" Karen says, returning from an errand.

Foggy looks at Matt, and it's hard to tell based on his heartbeat whether he's afraid to tell her or just responding to her presence in the room. She goes about the business of putting away the tea and coffee she picked up. Her heart rate skips just a little, and Matt grins at her feigned insouciance. Foggy leans in, his voice low.

"Don't you think there are some ethical implications to sleeping with a client?"

"No," Matt says, at a normal volume. "Because Steve is our client. Legally speaking, Bucky is still Missing in Action, and Steve has power of attorney."

"You're such a damn _lawyer_ sometimes."

Karen comes back in from the little kitchen. "Who got bagels, and what's the occasion?"

Foggy trips over his own tongue trying to come up with a plausible lie until Matt puts a hand on his arm.

"We're doing some consultancy work for someone," Matt says. "You might know him. Steve Rogers?"

"Otherwise known as Captain friggin' America," Foggy adds.

"Oh. Is that all."

Foggy throws up his hands. 


End file.
